


The Queen's Claws

by lea_hazel



Series: The Grey Warden's Guide [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Chivalry, Courtly Love, F/F, Feudalism, Grey Wardens, Heroism, Kings & Queens, Storytelling, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationship between the Queen of Ferelden and the Warden-Commander raises a few eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen's Claws

**Author's Note:**

> This fic flowed naturally from a number of Tumblr discussions regarding courtly love in Ferelden.

"The question remains, can we trust her to do the right thing?"

"The right thing?"

"Putting you on the throne, of course. What else could I mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Alistair. "Killing the Archdemon, maybe? Ending the Blight? That is why we came to Denerim, after all."

Arl Eamon harrumphed. "I wish you would take the affairs of the Landsmeet as seriously as you do your Grey Warden business," he said. "They are both your duty, after all."

Alistair made a noncommittal, nonverbal response.

"You've known her longest," said Eamon thoughtfully. "How do you think she will proceed?"

"I don't know," said Alistair.

"You are her friend, aren't you?" asked the Arl, frowning. "You seemed friendly enough when you arrived."

"I think I am," said Alistair, "but I can't be sure. She can be... difficult to read." His eyes strayed to Duncan's shield, which was propped against the wall not far from where they stood. It was just a bit too heavy for him to wield effectively, but he still wouldn't let it out of his sight.

Eamon did not seem pleased. "Yes," he said. "I have noticed the same."

"Did you see the way the Queen looked at her when she returned from Fort Drakon?" said Alistair, unsuccessfully suppressing a laugh. "If I didn't know better, I would think she's nursing a hero's crush on her rescuer. Wouldn't that be funny?"

"Yes," said Eamon absently, his eyebrows snapping together. "Anora did seem to take an unusual interest in the girl."

"Well, whatever, it doesn't mean anything," said Alistair. "Does it?"

"That remains to be seen," said Arl Eamon, still deep in thought.

***

"I would not have thought you to choose a stranger for the throne," said Loghain, "when you could have handed the crown and all of Ferelden to your companion of over a year, and have his ear in every decision he makes during his reign."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "What?"

"I was only wondering why you chose not to crown the bastard of Redcliffe," said Loghain.

"His name is Alistair," she said stiffly, her mouth forming a flat, taut line, "and I didn't hand him the crown because he wouldn't have known what to do with it. A fighter, he was, but not a leader. Wouldn't have wanted it, either, not but for that you're still breathing."

"He only wanted the crown to order my execution with it?" said Loghain. "Indeed, he does not sound a man fit to lead."

She coughed and spat. "Let's move on."

He didn't ask her why she spoke of him as of someone long-dead. "I thought perhaps it was because you were fond of Anora."

This time she didn't turn, but kept trudging on through the ashy, smoky, abandoned alleyways of Denerim. "She's clever, and she'll make a right enough queen. Not that it's much to me, Fereldan business not being my own."

"Why did you get involved?" he asked. "You are a stranger to this land."

"I'm a stranger to all lands," she said, stopping to root in a pile of rock fragments. "I put my word in only because you forced my hand."

"I see," said Loghain, but he didn't.

***

"It is good to have something to believe in," said Mhairi, "when you fight with your life every day."

"How do you mean?" said the Commander.

"When you put your life on the line, you want to know you're risking yourself for something greater than yourself," said Mhairi, "a worthwhile cause, a measure of honor and nobility."

"That why you joined the army?" she asked.

"Yes, Commander," said Mhairi, "but I wasn't talking about myself. I saw it in your eyes when you greeted Queen Anora."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," said the other, frowning.

"Everyone needs something to look up to, Commander," said Mhairi, a faint smile ghosting the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps even heroes."

The Commander stood up and brushed aside the papers on the large desk in front of her. "Let's go," she said. "It's about time for your Joining."

"Yes, Commander," said Mhairi, hastening to follow, "and not a moment too soon."

***

"The Warden-Commander's relationship with Her Majesty is exceedingly inappropriate," huffed the Revered Mother.

Sister Justine wisely kept silent and kept pouring the wine.

"I'm certain I don't know what you mean, Revered Mother," said Arl Wulff. "The Warden-Commander is a hero, and a staunch ally of the throne, despite not being Fereldan at all. Queen Anora is fortunate to have forged a concord with such a formidable friend."

"Indeed," said Teyrn Fergus, "I have never met the woman, but by all accounts her regard for the Queen is most fortuitous. Was she not the one who discovered Her Majesty held captive by the traitor Howe, even while the Landsmeet was assembling?"

The Revered Mother nodded her head sadly. "Formidable, perhaps," she said, "but she is a foreigner. She is known to consort with spies, drunkards, assassins and Maker knows what other unsavory sorts. This association cannot but drag the noble name of Ferelden's queen through the mud."

"I would not presume to contradict you, Mother," said Knight-Commander Greagoir, "although, in all of our dealings I have found the Grey Warden, I mean to say, the Commander of the Grey, to be a fair and honorable sort. Before her departure to Cumberland, Wynne, one of the most highly respected of our mages, spoke of her often and with the highest praise."

"Never would I counsel a monarch to foster such close ties with a woman of foreign birth," said the Revered Mother resolutely, "certainly not when the attachment appears to be of an unusually personal nature."

"Her Majesty Queen Anora hardly strikes me as having the temperament to become so attached," said the Teyrn dryly, "although our acquaintance has been similarly limited."

***

"She has performed many heroic deeds on behalf of the Fereldan throne, yes?"

The Queen turned her attention, which had wandered briefly, back to the woman standing before her. "The feats of the Warden-Commander are swiftly passing into legend," she said, "although I am made to understand that you have a hand in such a process, yourself."

The bard smiled. "I have a duty to pass on the stories I hear, Your Majesty," she demurred, "a duty which is also my pleasure."

"Stories of the Hero of Ferelden, who rose from obscurity and degradation to be the mightiest woman this land has seen in an age?" inquired the Queen, steepling her fingers pensively.

"The mightiest?" said Leliana. "I think perhaps you are discounting some of Ferelden's many mighty women. I have been fortunate to hear some of their tales during my years living in your fair land."

"Yes," said the Queen, "of course. Moira the Rebel Queen shall never fade into obscurity, however ignominious her death."

"Ignominy raises the listener's anger, and thereby their sympathy," said the bard. "Much as in the story of Ser Aveline of Orlais, whose death was similarly unworthy of her nobility."

"A mighty woman of your own land," said Anora. "I hear it does not fall short of Ferelden, in the arena of powerful women."

"Indeed," said Leliana, "although many of their tales remain to be told, or perhaps concluded."

"Will you write the tale of Orlais' most powerful woman, overcoming wretched odds to emerge honorable and triumphant?" asked Queen Anora with delicate, polite curiosity, as with a diplomat's rambling about children living in distant lands.

"Perhaps I will write the Ballad of the Widow Queen," said Leliana, her hands clasped decorously before her but her mouth curving thoughtfully.

Anora almost choked on her wine. "Indeed," was all she could manage to say.

"My thanks," said the bard, rising from her quick, exact curtsey. "Your Majesty has been most forthcoming. I believe I now discern what she sees in you."

"Beg pardon?" asked Anora. She was not completely certain that she had, indeed, heard those last words, much less than she had interpreted them correctly.

"Your Majesty has been most forthcoming," repeated the bard. "The Commander is expected to be seen in court some time in the next few weeks, yes?"

"Maker willing," said the Queen, "her successor will arrive from Jader in the coming days, and she will be relieved of her command. I believe she is looking forward to gaining a measure of freedom, after the trials of the past two years."

"Indeed," said the bard, smiling a curious-looking smile. "Greatness and freedom are seldom compatible goals."

"If that will be all?" asked Anora, her voice abruptly turning curt.

"Your Majesty," said Leliana, curtseying again.

"You are dismissed."

***

"The Queen of Ferelden, she is an unusual woman."

Natia looked up from her book.

Leliana was sprawled across the foot of the bed, bedclothes cast about carelessly, leaning her head on her palm and watching her with the oddest expression on her face.

"Yes?" said Natia. "I mean, I guess she is. How many queens do you think I've met?"

Leliana smiled and shrugged.

"Just the one," Natia assured her.

"She is a most impressive woman," Leliana went on. "Queenship suits her, I think. Don't you think?"

"She does what she has to," said Natia, absently turning the pages in her book. "Does what needs to be done, don't let anyone get in her way. I like that about her. Always did."

"You see," said Leliana, smiling coyly, "I knew you had taken a shine to her, but no one would believe me."

Natia shrugged. "Don't know what you mean," she muttered, closing the book and tucking it safely into her pack beside the bed.

Leliana laughed. "There is nothing to be hiding, my darling. Many find power intriguing, do they not?"

"'S'not power," said the Grey Warden grumpily, "but what you do with it."

"So I have always thought myself," said Leliana, crawling up the bed to drape herself around her beloved. "You see, we understand each other, also."

Natia smiled crookedly. "'Course we do," she said, and folded her head into the crook of Leliana's neck.

"You will be keeping the Queen's special gift?" asked Leliana. "It was most generous of her to offer."

"The daggers?" said Natia distractedly, toying with the loose strands of Leliana's hair. "S'pose so, I will. She knows I might not be back in Denerim before my Calling, I guess. Said she wanted me to have something of Ferelden when I go down Deepwards, even if it was only my home for a short while."

"They are quite finely wrought," said Leliana. "The finest I have ever seen. I'm almost jealous."

"Jealous? You?" asked Natia, smiling wickedly. "Of me or of my claws?"

Leliana hummed softly and stroked the back of Natia's neck.

"Of Queen Anora?" asked Natia, her brows rising. "It's a queen's gift to a hero, Lel. Not a lover's token."

"Yes," said Leliana, blowing the words softly into her ear, "but you are _her_ hero, her champion."

Natia shrugged. "'S'not like that," she said loftily. "I was her vassal for a year."

"Ah, her _vassal_ ," teased Leliana. "I did not know you knew that word. My little Grey Warden is all grown up."

She shrugged again, and smiled even more crookedly than before.

"Where do we go from here, my beloved Grey Warden?" asked Leliana, her fingers pulling apart the knot in Natia's hair.

"North," Natia murmured. "'S so much of this world, I want to see as much as I can before I go Deepwards."

"Let us head north, then," said Leliana softly. "As far north as a ship or horse will carry us. Shall we leave today? There is much for us to see, yes?"

Natia let her eyelids drift slowly shut. "Tomorrow," she said. "The world can wait for tomorrow."  


End file.
